


A Mountain's Just A Molehill (When You're Looking That Bit Too Close)

by Britpacker



Series: Dating Games [3]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Early Days, Inexperienced Trip, M/M, going public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-18 10:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9380888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: They’re in love and it’s wonderful, but there are a couple of obstacles between Trip, Malcolm and that happy-ever-after.  It seems when one comes tumbling down, the other’s not such a biggie after all…





	1. In Public

“Malcolm? What is it we’re s’posed to be celebratin’ tonight?”

“God only knows.” Spinning away from his door with a giddy smile Enterprise’s Armoury Officer tucked his hand into the proffered one of the ship’s Chief Engineer. “Some Denobulan tradition or other, I think. Cutler says Phlox has been homesick recently.”

“So she throws him a party to remind him what he’s missing? She’s not got Feezal comin’ to play, has she?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but don’t worry.” Checking the halls first, Reed pushed onto his toes and planted a peck against the side of the blond’s jaw. “If there are any predatory Denobulan females on board, I’ll protect you with my body if need be.”

“Now you be careful with that body. I’m kinda fond of it.”

“I know.” They were dawdling, afraid to leave the security of B Deck, but it couldn’t be helped. Malcolm sucked in a deep breath, untangled his fingers from the other man’s and hit the turbolift button unnecessarily hard. “I believe that’s why we’re late and I’ve already had to change my shirt.”

“It’s not my fault.” The capsule closed them off from the universe and Trip took speedy advantage, ducking in for a brief but bruising liplock. “You, all in black… haven’t I told you what that does to me?”

“Why do you think I was wearing it, Commander?”

Impulsively, Tucker hit the halt button. “How about we go back to my quarters and have us a party of our own, Lieutenant?” he murmured, leaning in for a slow, sensuous kiss. Malcolm sighed.

“I wish, but we can’t let Phlox down.” Trip waggled his eyebrows.

“Wanna watch me?” 

“Now there’s a leading question.” With a filthy grin Reed set the lift back into motion while his lover gawked, stupefied by the unexpected innuendo. “We don’t have to stay long, do we?”

Unconsciously both men straightened before the door could open, each fighting the other’s magnetic pull to reach a safe professional distance before facing the crew. “Good idea, Malcolm,” Trip declared, too loudly. “Put a proposal together and I’ll look it over, okay?”

“Aye, sir. Evening, Travis. What’s this festival we’re supposed to be marking, do you know?”

“Some kind of fertility ritual, according to Liz.” The helmsman winked. “Maybe we’ll all get lucky tonight, huh? God knows it’s been a while!”

“Depends on your definition of luck, I suppose.” While Tucker impersonated a stunned fish, Reed’s composure never wavered while he ushered the younger officer ahead. “Just watch out for Crewman Mulrooney – she’s been after your arse from Day One.”

“And doesn’t the whole of Starfleet know it?” Gloomily Mayweather made a bee-line for the groaning buffet tables set beneath the mess hall’s viewports. “One of these days I’m gonna win the shore leave lottery, even if I have to fix the damn thing myself! Have fun, guys.”

He was gone before either man could form a reply.

“Mal?”

“Yes, Trip?”

“Do I want to know what we’re gettin’ ourselves into here?”

The Englishman paused for a moment, head cocked and lips appealingly pursed. “Probably not,” he conceded, swaying aside to allow the next gaggle of revellers free passage into the crowded room. “Still, it looks as if people are enjoying themselves. I suppose we’d better be seen to mingle.”

“Get you a drink?”

“If they’ve got any of that pineapple rum left, yes please. I’ll start at the stern, shall I?”

“Meet y’ in the middle. Hey, Cap’n. What’s this festival called, d’ you know?”

“Denal’ Bah - and don’t ask Hoshi for a translation unless you plan on waking up in Sickbay.” Looming out of the melee, Jonathan Archer hid an assessing glance behind his wide smile. “Let’s just say bah translates as _bed_ and Denal’ is short for…”

“We get the picture, thanks.” Tucker dipped his flaming face just enough to feel the cool draught of his neighbour’s exhale, which somehow made him feel even hotter. “Uh, you won’t mind if I put Cutler on duty cleaning up the plasma conduits next week, Cap’n? They’ve not been checked for a while… maybe someone with a little medical knowledge could…”

“Permission granted, Commander.” The way Archer’s sudden jolt coincided with a smothered feminine giggle said everything. As discreetly as was possible Reed slipped both hands behind his back, ready to fend off any assailant brave – or foolish – enough to make an attempt against the head of security’s arse. “Oh, and watch out for the orange drink – it’s not juice.”

“It seems awfully popular.” _Especially with the ladies_ , though ingrained politeness restrained Reed from saying so. The men, meanwhile, seemed to be congregating around a gooey pinkish mess that had to be spooned into cups. 

“Commander! Lieutenant! Come try these, they’re incredible!” Fisher, always the first to get into any party spirit, sashayed over, brandishing a tray of delicate canapés with the confidence of a silver-service host at the 602. “Phlox says they’re a traditional delicacy – some kind of caviar.”

Tucker looked at him. Archer shrugged. “Seem okay to me,” he mouthed. 

In the meantime, Reed took a cautious bite. “Bloody hell they’re delicious! Trip you’ve got to try one!”

“Sure thing, Mal.” The use of his name in public – off-duty only – always gave him a kick, never more so than when it was combined with that rare, unguarded grin. Trip couldn’t stop himself grinning back. 

Archer’s smile widened to Denobulan proportions. “Given the nature of the festival guys – just be careful, okay?” he murmured, sending Fisher off into a violent fit of smothered giggles badly disguised as a coughing fit. Trip could have sworn he felt his neighbour’s flinch even through his own. 

He did what any male by the name of Tucker did in a hole. He picked up his shovel and got right on digging.

“Uh, good point, Cap’n. Maybe we’d better finish off that packet of cookies I’ve been saving later, Mal.”

Fisher bolted. Captainly dignity cast aside, Archer followed suit. “Shit. Did that sound as bad outside of my head?” the Southerner muttered.

“Probably.” A path was opening up toward the bar. Head down, eyes focussed on the floor, Reed made a determined move along it, no longer caring how lethal Phlox’s Denobulan cocktails were. “Get mingling, Commander. Distract attention.”

“Aye, sir.” His heart sank but Trip bowed on instinct to his partner’s greater strategic sense, snapping up a drink and heading into the heart of the room without a glance behind. They’d done this before. Nobody would look twice if the Chief Engineer and the Armoury Officer joined their own teams for a while at a party.

It was just that his eyes were drawn, wherever and whenever, to that part of the room the lieutenant happened to be in; his attention shifted from the conversation he was meant to be having to the sudden, throaty hum of a certain chuckle over the general hubbub. It didn’t mean anything, after all. They’d seen it all before, all of them.

What he hadn’t seen before were the smiles. The quick turns of the cheek. The elbows jabbing into neighbours’ ribs when he looked around just that once too often to check out the merry throng. Did Kelly always smirk like that when he mentioned Malcolm’s name?

Come to think of it, did he always name-check the armoury officer in every second sentence? 

“Enjoying the party, Commander?” _Damn_. That was all he needed, Hess drink-armed and dangerous, slithering into the middle of the group while he was distracted. Tucker summoned his biggest grin.

“Sure. You?”

“It’s okay, but I guess a fertility rite’s got to be more fun when you’re actually getting some, right?” Wide eyes met his and try as he might Trip couldn’t look away. “And doesn’t it drive you nuts way some people just wear civvies _really_ well? I don’t blame you for staring! Hey, Maria, you want another shot of that weird frogspawn stuff Liz was talking about? See you tomorrow, sir.”

_Shit_. 

The first chance he got he broke away from his team and edged toward the farthest corner of the room, well away from the crowds, the buffet and the booze. He didn’t need to look around to know his move had been noticed, but it flipped his stomach to see just how quickly it was followed.

Malcolm hadn’t taken his eyes off him all evening.

“You all right, Trip?” Enviably cool, the Englishman slipped into the seat at his side, retaining a just-about-professional distance above the table while pressing his thigh hard into the engineer’s. Trip gulped.

“Hey, Malcolm.” He was spared the effort of answering by an unexpected bout of good timing from an ensign not famous for his mastery of the art. “Good party.”

“Someone’s enjoying it a little too much.” From behind Mayweather’s bulk, Hoshi Sato peeped out like a brightly-plumed bird in a giant oak. Travis chortled.

“You know what they say about all work and no play, Hoshi? Even my chess games get cancelled every other week these days… ”

“Travis, behave!” Small though she was, their linguist packed one hell of a punch as both officers had learned to their cost. What Trip hadn’t appreciated before was that after a few strong drinks their consummate diplomat needed lessons from a boomer in the ancient art of the tactful exit. “We’re not supposed to know anything, remember?”

The noise of the party faded. To Tucker it seemed he was trapped, frozen in a bubble. “Er, Trip?”

Trapped with an armoury officer shorn of his combativeness who sounded like a frightened five-year-old. “Yeah?”

“They’ve known about us for ages, haven’t they?”

“I’m starting to think that, yeah.” Eyes sliding right, Tucker tried to gauge his man’s reaction but the blank mask of the perfect officer, the ultimate E.M. barrier, had slipped into place. “Sorry.”

“What for? You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“Hell, no!” What did he think Trip was, suicidal? “I’m just thinking… they must’ve seen something, and it’s not like I’m good at that whole poker-face stuff.”

“No, you’re not.” Beneath the table fingers gripped his, smoothing the potential sting from the words. “But there’s every chance I’ve been caught ogling your arse, so I can’t complain. I – are they staring?”

“Not that I can tell.” The festivities swirled around them; people nodded acknowledgements as they passed, but nobody was going out of their way. “You okay about this, Mal?”

“There doesn’t seem to be a great deal I can do about it short of throwing a paddywack, and I don’t see that improving the situation.” Dust-dry, the words were as comforting as Reed’s hidden caress and Trip was slammed by a shock of understanding the Englishman confirmed a moment later. “It saves us making any announcements, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” It could’ve been the booze, but Tucker doubted it: he could hold his liquor as well as any of a family notorious for their iron bellies, and not even the weirdest alien cocktail had ever made his head swim this way. Malcolm wasn’t freaking out.

Malcolm, whether he admitted it or not, was feeling the same giddy exhilaration that was turning his vision all hazy. No announcements. Acceptance. 

If it wouldn’t mean risking a quick trip to Sickbay (and with Phlox leading the crew in an undulating dance routine involving a whole lot of additional alcohol that definitely wasn’t a good idea) Trip would have kissed his boyfriend there and then for the sheer hell of it. 

Instead, he turned his hand under the table and pressed it hard against the lieutenant’s. “Glad we came?” he whispered.

Reed lifted a radiant smile his way. “Very,” he said sweetly. The urge got just a little bit stronger.

Before he could act on it, a throat was noisily cleared and both men’s heads jerked back, two pairs of widened eyes connecting with the deep-set brown pair of Ensign Wells, looming over there other side of their table. “Um, there’s quite a crowd around the bar, Lieutenant, so we figured it’d be a good idea to bring a couple of glasses over, save you and Commander Tucker fighting through,” the young armourer announced, thrusting out said glasses like lucky charms. Sitting so close, Tucker felt his neighbour’s minute start as if it were his own.

“Thanks, Pete.” Malcolm accepted the offering with a composure that amazed even himself, silently acknowledging its meaning with a subtle lift of the brimming goblet. “Cheers.”

“Enjoy the party, sir.” Grinning hugely, Wells backed away until he was swallowed by the throng. Trip turned a narrowed gaze on his companion.

“Wanna tell me what just happened?” he asked.

“I _think_ my staff just told me they’re happy for me.” Malcolm shook his head, startled by the laughter that broke through the words. “Christ, and I’m supposed to be observant! They’ve known all along how I feel about you, and I never even noticed!”

“They prob’ly knew they’d be clutterin’ up Sickbay for a month if they hung up the _Congratulations_ banner.”

“Better that than the mortuary, Commander.” 

To think he’d been insistent on names over titles! Accompanied by the raised eyebrow and that deadly half-smirk, it was the sexiest thing Trip Tucker had ever been called. “You, uh, wanna get out of here before I start givin’ your team even more not to mention in front of you?” he croaked.

Malcolm actually looked surprised. “Oh! Am I by any chance _charging your weapons_ , Mister Tucker?”

“Revvin’ my engines, Mister Reed. Ready to go?”

“Always.” Graceful despite the stirring in his groin Malcolm rose, swaying around the table without troubling to check behind. People smiled; nodded; a few of the boldest event waved. They all knew.

Knew their Armoury Officer was scurrying off to bed with their Chief Engineer. And knowing, they offered a respectful farewell and returned to their own flirtations.

He had under-estimated his colleagues, Reed decided. Been unfair to his friends. 

_No more._

He paused, feeling time slowing, his senses heightened as if imminent danger loomed. Slowly, deliberately, keeping steady eye contact, he stretched out to take his lover’s hand.

Trip’s eyes widened but he kept his warp seven mouth resolutely shut while the meaning of a private man’s public gesture seeped through to his bloodstream. Cautious, he squeezed the Brit’s fingers by way of acknowledgement. 

Malcolm returned the pressure and together, hand in hand, the two men headed for the exit while the party carried on around them.


	2. In Private

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm's biggest worry proved a bit of a damp squib. That's not quite the term applicable to Trip's...

Neither spoke until the Englishman disengaged his grip at the turbolift. “”You didn’t mind…” he began helplessly, the direction of his look all the clarification Trip could need. 

“Hell, no!” Snatching the hand still rested against the control panel Tucker raised it to his mouth, delicately lapping up the forefinger. Every flick of the tongue seared straight through to the bone, slowly melting the hard surface.

Much, Reed mused, faintly alarmed by his descent into dribbling whimsy, as Trip had done to his heart. “I’ve wanted to hold your hand every movie night for the past couple of months but I never had the guts,” the blond admitted, unconsciously shuffling closer, the imminent arrival of the lift forgotten. Malcolm’s head tipped back; long sable lashes swept down to shield too-expressive eyes. 

Trip Tucker was beat, and he knew it.

He had no idea who moved first but when their mouths connected the niceties stopped being important. One hand cupped his lover’s perfect ass, drawing the smaller man up toward the cradle of his thighs while the other wove deep into dark, satiny hair. Malcolm’s tongue flicked against the roof of his mouth, the connection fizzing simultaneously up to short-circuit his brain and down to sap the strength from his knees. The taste of his own low moan tickled the base of Tucker’s throat. “More,” he tried to say.

Maybe Malcolm heard; maybe he was just getting used to Trip’s little foibles. Disengaging the lip-lock with a succession of sharp, stinging kisses he shifted in the Southerner’s hold, trailing his tongue along the jawline and around until he could sucker onto Trip’s neck at the sensitive spot just above his collar. Whimpering his surrender the engineer matched his lover’s move, sucking hard enough to stain Reed’s succulent flesh.

He’d never had these vampiric tendencies before, susceptible though he’d always been to the sting of teeth at his own jugular. Only with Malcolm did he feel this irresistible urge to mark his territory: prove if only to himself that this man was his and his alone. 

Even though springs were coiling in his balls, tightening the tender sacs, it was the pressure at his neck that was most potent, spreading warmth southward from Malcolm’s busy mouth. Utterly enveloped by it he failed to catch the click and hiss of an arriving turbolift or the unmistakable clack of a high-heeled boot. Even her hand on his shoulder didn’t register until she leaned close and spoke directly at ear level.

“Commander. It might be logical to continue this encounter in a more private location.”

“Hu – oh, yeah, thanks T’Pol.” Panicked instinct slid his eyes right but Reed seemed unnervingly composed: insulated from embarrassment or just too damn good at hiding it while his lover hustled him into the lift, protectively shielding the slighter man’s modesty with his bulk. “Fuck.”

“It could be worse – we know she’s not a gossip.” Cold, hard logic. Tucker figured she’d like that. “If anyone has to catch us necking in the corridor, better T’Pol than Crewman Butler. Or Travis.”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks. I don’t feel so bad now.”

“I doubt I’ll be looking her in the eye on the bridge tomorrow though.” B Deck opened up before them and in silent accord the two men burst out onto it, turning instinctively toward the Englishman’s quarters. “And if she _does_ look down her nose, I don’t suppose anyone will notice a difference.”

“You always get the feeling she’s judgin’ you too, huh?” Logically he knew better, but Tuckers weren’t creatures of logic at the best of times. Malcolm shrugged.

“Never thought I’d be grateful for that condescending attitude of hers,” he joked, keying in his access code blind and stepping aside, shocked by his own casual assurance. Trip was coming in. _Now, how long can I persuade him to stay?_

When strong arms wrapped around him and a deep, husky voice purred a positively filthy suggestion into his ear he had his answer. Trip was staying as long as he bloody well wanted to, and if that proved to be all night… well, Malcolm could live with that too.

He could, he discovered, shocked by his surge of reckless joy, live with anything now the biggest obstacle had been overcome without lifting a finger. The captain knew. The crew accepted. He could be happy, in public. With Trip.

In private, on the other hand, he could be positively ecstatic with Trip. Gentle fingers carded through his hair; warm, malleable lips sucked and nibble along his jawline. The drift bedward, items of clothing slipping away in their wake, was accomplished on air. By the time he hit horizontal, Trip’s weight a welcome pressure from chest to thigh, Malcolm was boneless with bliss, the effort required to kiss his man senseless the last he felt himself capable of making.

It was worth it to plaster that dazed, wondering look over the blond’s handsome face. “C’n I stay?” Tucker rumbled, wide blue eyes darkened almost to black. Reed jerked his head.

“Yes please.”

“You’re so damn _polite_ , Mal.” It was, he gathered as butterfly kisses rained over his face, a compliment; one that, oddly, failed to embarrass him as unearned praise usually did. Tucker adjusted position, bringing their engorged lengths into dizzying contact and blindly he groped for the inoffensive bottle carefully stationed just within reach on the bedside chest. “Confident were y'?”

“Hopeful.” And always prepared. Guided by the popping of cap and the splosh of oil against palm Malcolm shifted, offering himself to his lover’s hands. “Eagle Scout.”

“Cap’n must’ve missed that badge.” Once, any thought of Johnny at a moment like this would’ve sent Trip scuttling for cover. Not anymore.

Taking advantage of Malcolm’s distraction he slipped a finger down to graze the tender spot behind the Englishman’s balls. Laughter mutating into a moan Reed rubbed himself against the slick digit, demanding more. Encouraged, Trip probed deeper, seeking out his tight entrance and Malcolm practically swooned, more vocal, more at ease with his sensual response than the Southerner had ever seen him.

That was it: the moment the last cold kernel of resistance inside of Trip Tucker melted. His vocal chords loosened and he leaned in, pouring the unexpected question into his partner’s ear. “Do you want me to fuck you, Malcolm?”

It took a few agonising seconds for the meaning of the words to permeate Reed’s heavenly trance. “God yes!” he breathed, his mind catching the meaning immediately after it twanged his balls. “But I thought…”

“You’re gonna have to help me here.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” A single American finger swiped deep inside him and Malcolm jerked up, every brain cell momentarily melted. “You’re doing fine, Trip just – oh please, just keep doing that!”

“Anything you want.” Was this what Malcolm had experienced in the mess hall: this sudden, irrational surge of joy that the great big mountain he’d been staring at was just a molehill when he stepped back far enough to see? Whatever it was, Trip could feel all his terrors dissolving into the heated puddle of joy that was humping his right hand.

Malcolm wanted this. _He_ wanted it.

Wanted it more, he realised when a strong, elegant hand curled at the back of his neck, tugging him down for a plundering kiss, than he wanted oxygen or even the latest engineering specs to play with. They’d come this far (and a little bit farther) before now: his fingers working deep inside Malcolm’s body, probing, stretching while the other man squirmed, wordlessly directing operations for his own greatest pleasure. The firm ring of muscle around his entrance felt softer, slackened and slippery with the excess fluid from Trip’s fingers. “Like this?” he murmured.

“Mmmm, like that.” The occasional pressure against his prostate was heavenly but now Malcolm knew it for a mere foretaste, it wasn’t nearly heavenly enough. “You’ve got to – oh! – stretch me,” he gasped, snapping up a hand to demonstrate the scissoring of fingers he had in mind. “Just a bit more, come on, oh fuck that’s good!”

Articulate. That was good: it meant concise instruction coming his way, but Trip had learned in all the right ways there was nothing sexier than an incoherent, babbling Reed. He did as he was told.

“’s enough.” He was hanging on by a thread and Malcolm knew it: if he didn’t get a grip now this would be over before it properly started. Vaguely he plucked at Tucker’s shoulder, drawing the Southerner back just enough to make escape possible. “Lube.”

“What for?” Talented fingers doused in fragrant oil danced over his cock in answer. “ _Jesus_!”

“Easy, tiger.” The words, spoken in an exaggerated Florida drawl combined with a firm grip at the base of his newly-soaked phallus, had the desired effect: the pounding in his skull eased off and the silvery mist cleared from Trip’s glassy eyes. “Sorry; didn’t realise you were so close.”

“With you squirmin’ around goin’ for my dick? Hell, why’d I be close?” Those fingertips still pressed into his most sensitive flesh but their grip drew him back from the brink, leaving him able to appreciate the sensation and the beautiful, brilliant Brit who created it and was now grinning wickedly, supremely assured and powerfully aroused beneath him. Malcolm arched up and as if he was magnetised Trip felt himself being pulled down for a kiss.

In the middle of it he was aware of motion; when it ended he discovered he was sprawled on top of his spread-eagled lover, Reed’s powerful legs holding him in place. “It’s what you’re most familiar with, love,” he murmured, ghosting a hand over the faintest blush that touched his man’s cheek. “You’ll need to push a bit, then it’s like shagging a woman, only… different.”

“Gee, that helps.” The broad head of his cock nestled snugly against Malcolm’s opening: so far, so familiar, and yet _different_ didn’t start to describe the sinewy power in the hairy thighs that gripped him, or the flat, muscular planes of the chest beneath his hands. Wondering, Trip lifted his head, staring solemnly into the stormy ocean eyes he adored. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Briefly the Englishman cursed the curious mind that had guided his partner’s private researches and he ached to test his legendary flexibility by applying foot to own arse that the man hadn’t felt comfortable about approaching him with his fears. “Trust me, Trip. And oh, do that again!”

“What, this?” A little pelvic thrust had the brunet babbling like a brook and Tucker’s fragile confidence took flight. Wrapping his hands around Malcolm’s hips he sucked in a breath, closed his heavy eyes and pushed.

“Jesus!” Like a tight fist Malcolm’s anal ring clenched around his most sensitive parts, sharp, sweet sensation shooting up through his belly. “’Kay?”

“Okay.” Thin lips tightened and relaxed as the Englishman exhaled, waiting for the immediate sting to pass before risking an answer. “You?”

Trip’s head jerked. “Oh, yeah,” he hissed, sinking in a little deeper, and then a little more. “You’re so tight, Mal, it’s like – oh, yeah!”

“It’s been a while.” Belatedly it occurred to Malcolm that the wry words might be a mistake but swamped by the flex of firm walls around his length Trip missed the obvious implication. Aimless hands wandered down the blond’s broad back as Reed arched up from the mattress, seeking closer contact, deeper penetration. He was rewarded with a tongue-filled kiss that made his head spin. “That’s right just – oh, like that!”

“Gotcha.” He knew this. The rhythmical push-pull; the reflexive clench of a firm, flexible channel rippling around his cock; the slide of sweaty skin and the pressure of legs locked high around the waist as his partner strained.

But not _that_ : not the burning of another erection hard against his belly and slick with the first hint of masculine release. The ticklishness of body hair was as alien as facial ridging or pointed ears; the husky depth of the voice murmuring his name right and wrong all at once. Sensations, impressions, crowded in on him and all the time his dick was being massaged by the tightest sheath, his balls slapping up against the tautness of a perfect ass and it was all so good, so _right_ , he couldn’t process it anymore.

Somehow he wormed a hand between them, sharing a little of what Malcolm’s anus was giving to the Englishman’s aching shaft and pumping in time with his thrusts, plundering Reed’s open mouth as he groaned, every muscle bar those in his neck tense against the rush of his orgasm. Wetness surged between their guts, long powerful spurts in tandem with the hard, rhythmical squeeze of convulsions around his cock. The pressure building in Trip’s balls, his belly, behind his ribs, erupted.

Stars at warp 8 streaked across his narrowing vision. Fingers and toes curled up against the rising storm. For a split second he hung on the edge, aware of everything; then it hit, pure, superheated pleasure that swept everything away and left him yelling, sobbing, clinging with all the strength he had to the only reality that was left.

Malcolm.

**

His hair. There was something in it.

Fingers.

Sluggish, reluctant, Tucker’s mind began its climb from oblivion, random connections firing between synapses in time with the long, level huffs of breath he could feel reverberating from one body to the other. Malcolm’s fingers. Playing in his hair. Malcolm’s body. Trapped under him.

_Trapped_. “Ah’m squashin’ you.”

“Easy!” When he tried to roll – okay, he admitted, tried to flop – off to the side, flaccid muscles clenched to prevent: Malcolm taking control again to slide their bodies around, hip to hip. “Take it slowly love, we’ll both be sensitive.”

“Sonofabitch!” Static shocks danced along his withdrawing penis and by the whistle of air between Malcolm’s teeth Trip figured his asshole was fizzing the same way. “You okay?”

“Bloody marvellous, thank you.” Drenched to the chest in his own come, his thighs sticky with the dribbling residue of a lover’s climax, Enterprise’s clean-freak-in-chief nuzzled happily into his limp hold, chin burrowed into the hollow of Tucker’s throat. “Mmmm, don’t move.”

“Dontcha wanna clean up?” Damn, he was slurring. That couldn’t be attractive.

“No.”

That woke him up big-time. “Who are you, and what’ve you done with mah Malcolm?”

“I’ve done nothing. _You_ , on the other hand, have just shagged him so silly he never wants to wipe the smell off again.”

Perky. There was another surprise: that Lieutenant Uptight turned into a smartass flirt in the afterglow. Another irresistible contradiction. 

As if there weren’t already enough for a lifetime!

“I did okay then?” He sounded like a scared schoolkid but that was okay. Trip felt like one as he brought trembling fingers to stroke the brunet’s chin.

Malcolm raised his head, glinting silver gaze meeting cloudy blue. “I’d give you a commendation if you didn’t outrank me, Commander,” he said mildly. Trip snorted.

“Just as well I do, unless you’re planning to take out the whole of Command!”

For several seconds they stared at each other. Malcolm’s mouth twitched. Trip’s throat convulsed.

Laughter, intertwined as intimately as their bodies, echoed around the cabin. “Damn I love you, Mal,” Tucker choked, hugging the younger man tight enough to make him wheeze. “And that was – that was amazing. Bein’ inside of you…”

“You’ll do it again, then?”

By Reed standards that was plain tactless, and it made Trip’s heart flip clean over. “Anytime you want, Gorgeous,” he pledged. “And you’ll – you’re gonna do it to me someday, yeah?”

“All in good time, Mistah Tuckah.” He loved the way Mal fired out the formality, every syllable so sharp and precise. “And not until you’re ready.”

“Oh, Ah’m ready.” Getting fucked made Malcolm come apart in a whole new way, and Trip wanted to know why. “It’s a little scary, but…”

“It’s fucking terrifying, if I remember rightly.” What he had needed from Jem in his eager inexperience, as Malcolm remembered only too well, was a level of emotional support that had been painfully lacking. Meeting his boyfriend’s troubled stare he swore to himself that Trip would never know that agony. “I know you’re comfortable with me Trip, but you’ve got to learn to trust _us_ in a completely different way. Let me show you all the ways you can make me feel good and then, when you’re ready…”

“Deal.” Trip stuck out a hand then blushed, aware of how ridiculous he looked. Solemnly, Malcolm shook it. “I think I’m going to enjoy this, Mal.”

“I know I am.” Heat filling his lower portions at the mere thought, Malcolm leaned in for a long, languid snogging. “Stay?”

“Not goin’ anywhere darlin’.” He wasn’t the only one with some new trusting to do Trip figured, well aware of what that timid little word cost his deeply private lover. “Glad we went to the party?”

A direct challenge, the one thing no Reed ever ducked. Malcolm dipped his head, closing his lips around one dusky nipple and sucked hard before replying. “Very. We’re skipping movie night tomorrow?”

“Keep doin’ that and I’m skipping my shift as well.” When teeth were applied too, Tucker had his last rational thought of the evening.

_Screw ‘em all. I’m never getting out of this bed again!_  



End file.
